


How Can I Forget You?

by death_of_romeo



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_of_romeo/pseuds/death_of_romeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't know how, he didn't know why. All he knew was when. Where. Boston in the early 1900s, New York City in the 1920s, Los Angeles in the 1940s. Somehow, someway, he had been cursed. Over and over and over again, he found the same boy. His name may differ, his hair color or accent or upraising, but it was still him. It was always him. (A Joelay reincarnation AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Boston in the early twentieth century was a world away from the world he currently lived in. The automobile was merely a far-fetched daydream, the plane was a thought that could get you locked up in an insane asylum if you weren't careful enough. Immigrants were slowly but surely piling in to the supposedly free country, and the majority of the population was absolutely disgusted with it. He supposed he was in the minority with that one; he didn't mind the new faces, the new accents or mindsets that were flooding the streets of his current home of Boston, Massuchesetts. It was refreshing, honestly, seeing a different variety of views and opinions. Even if they were snatching up whatever jobs they could, and even if the general population of the country despised the new citizens, he didn't care. It didn't phase him much, really. He just tried to keep to himself, tried to stay safe. He just tried to survive.

He was in his late twenties when he met the boy for the first time.

He was working in his father's factory, ensuring that each kid employed there was still working. It was his job to make sure that none of the little boys or girls slacked off, because if they did, well...

It was a sunny, sweltering hot day in Boston when a young Hispanic boy, who must not have been a day over eighteen, showed up at the front doors. He looked dirty, poor. Desperate. The boy tried his best to beg for a job, utilizing whatever English he could to do so. He explained how his family was new to the States, how his parents couldn't work as well as they used to, how it was his job now to make enough money to pay for food, and rent, and-

"Hey, hey, calm down, kid." he cut the boy off, tired of hearing the broken English from the even more broken child. "You can start tomorrow. Can you be here by six tomorrow morning?"

The young man stared in bewilderment for a second before nodding, a bright grin appearing on his face as he did so.

Joel tried to not find it cute.

"When you get here in the morning, just look for me, alright?" he paused, lowering his voice after that. This fair treatment would be frowned upon if it were to be discovered by anyone, and he couldn't risk that. Not again. He moved closer to the young man, looked at him with an expression that could only say _listen to me, I shouldn't be doing this_ , before continuing to speak. "Be here by six o'clock sharp and you'll get the job. I'll be waiting for you, okay?" he watched the young man nod and smile that stupid little grin from before, and still, Joel tried to not think anything of it. This was only a _kid_ , for God's sake.  

* * *

 

It was 5:51 in the morning when he heard footsteps on the stairs. _Punctual_ , he thought, nodding to himself as he moved to the door. When he opened it to see the same old Hispanic boy from yesterday, this time in a cleaner looking shirt, his hair mussed back a tad bit different from before, his eyes gleaming with hope and excitement and pride and _fear_ , Joel couldn't help but smile just a little. God, was it nice seeing kids so excited for something, even if it was just to labor in a factory all day.

"You're early." he commented as he welcomed the boy inside, shutting the door behind him and watching the kid marvel at the interior of the place. It was just a factory, just gears and grinds and metal and steel sitting idle and waiting to be touched, and yet, the boy must have seen something else in it. His eyes had a different shine to them now, Joel could see it even from the short distance he stood away from the boy. He gave it a minute, let the sights and sounds and smells of the factory set in before he finally spoke up.

"Have you never seen a factory before?" he asked. The boy looked back at him, confusion obvious in his expression.

"You've never been in a place like this." Joel repeated before walking towards the boy and walking alongside him, leading him through the main floor. He kept quiet for a few minutes, watched the young man take everything in. They stopped at one station, and he ignored the mixture of surprise and disappointment that spread across the young man's face as they stopped. "This is where you're going to work." he explained, pointing to the simple station in front of them. "The rest of the kids will be here in about a half hour. I'm sure one of them can show you how to do it." The boy nodded, and Joel watched him for a second. Something was different about the kid. Odd, like a sort of deja vu he couldn't explain.

He sighed quietly and pushed the thought aside for now.

"What's your name?" he asked, trying to distract his mind from the strange thoughts swimming about in his mind.

"Ray." the boy muttered, glancing to Joel before glancing back at the machines situated all around them. Joel smiled faintly at the sight, still amazed that the boy - Ray - was so enthralled in everything around him.

"Joel." he replied. "If you ever need anything, or you get too tired or hungry or anything like that, just come find me, okay? I'm usually down here somewhere keeping an eye on everything."

And with that, Joel forced himself to walk away, to leave Ray alone. The rest of the kids would arrive soon. They could help the boy with anything he needed. As for himself, he needed to distance himself. He needed to, _desperately_. He didn't need to think the things he was beginning to think about the young man, about the _boy_. He was just a fucking _child_ , for God's sake. That was illegal, it had to be. He had to treat Ray just as he did all the rest of the employees. He had to treat the boy fairly, and by God, did he try.

One day, however, Ray didn't show up for work. Joel thought it to be a fluke; the kid may just be sick. That happened, he wouldn't hold it against the boy for missing one day to recover and feel better.

When one week passed and still no Ray, Joel began to worry. It was irrational, he knew it was, to be worrying about just some stupid kid that worked for his father, but _fuck_ , he couldn't _help_ it.

One month passed and he decided to just move on. The boy was probably dead and gone by now, there was no sense in dwelling on it any longer. He needed to move on. He was a mature adult, and Ray was just a kid. Nothing would have worked out, he knew that it wouldn't. It was better this way, anyway.

Joel wished he could believe that.


	2. Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joel sees a familiar face and makes a decision.

The second time they met was in a speakeasy in New York City.

Joel had a horrible tendency of ignoring those around him, of drowning out the world with whiskey and pretending it somehow fixed all of his problems. It never did, of course, but he liked to hope. He liked to dream. He liked to pretend that his heart wasn't still with a kid he met nearly twenty years ago, that he didn't still yearn to know what ever happened to the boy. He liked to pretend that drinks made things better, that alcohol was a perfect substitute for the kid he would see again. He liked to pretend. Spending his nights in speakeasies was just fine with him, just so long as the drinks came fast and the thoughts came slow.

Speaking of drinks...

"Hey!" he interjected in to the loud bar, hoping to be loud enough for the bartender to hear him. He obviously didn't succeed, as the guy behind the counter didn't even give him a second's glance. _"_ Hey!" he tried again. "Where's my fucking drink?"

This time, the man behind the counter gave him the attention he was looking for, but it wasn't exactly what he was expecting.

Those _eyes_.

It- it _couldn't be_. It made no sense! Surely- there was no way...

"Sorry, coming right up, sir!" the boy beamed, but it didn't even register in Joel's mind. Those eyes, that smile, those lips, that _tone_ , it was all so god damn _familiar_. But there was no way that was Ray, right? He died _years_ ago. There was no other logical explanation for the resemblance, but that still didn't stop Joel from staring at the boy intently, trying to find some rhyme or reason or _logic_ behind any of this.

_"Here's your drink."_

_"Sir?"_

_"Sir, are you alright?"_

He shook his head, looked down to his drink. He thought for a second, considered his options. He couldn't sound creepy, couldn't scare the boy off. He couldn't lose the kid, not again, but what was he to do? What was he to _say_?

"I, um, I'm sorry if this sounds really creepy or- yeah, I don't know, but-" he paused, looked up to see the boy heading down to the other end of the bar. It was too loud, he hadn't been heard. He had two options then; speak up, get the boy's attention once more, or to just let it go. Move on.

He decided, ultimately, to just let the boy live his life. He had no place intruding in it. He was just a drunken old man, after all. He didn't even know the bartender's name. He lost the kid once before, he could do it again. Besides, this man being the kid from years and years ago, it didn't make any sense. It was just a man. Just a kid. It had nothing to do with him.

To this day, he regrets his decision.


	3. New York, New York...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every story has two sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((This is the previous chapter from a different point of view. Not really meant as a filler chapter, but also totally a filler chapter. Enjoy! x))

The bar was buzzing, names and faces and conversations he knew nothing about flooding his eardrums until it became hard to think, difficult to hear his own thoughts. Cocktails for the couple to his right, gin for the group of friends situated in the middle of the bar. Whiskey for the man at his far left. He hurried through the different orders, trying his damned best to provide timely and accurate beverages to everyone. It was a difficult job, damn right it was, but it was one that he could do and one that he could make some decent money from. Being a Hispanic in New York in the middle of the 1920s wasn't exactly an ideal situation, but he was trying his best to make the most of it. He was trying to-

_"Where's my fucking drink?_ "

He swung around, made eye contact with a very annoyed looking man seated at the far left side of the bar. He nodded rapidly, said, with forced courtesy, "Coming right up, sir!", and scurried off quickly to go and prepare the man's drink. The last thing he needed was for someone to get angry with him. He could lose his job, or even worse, get in to a fight of some sort. He couldn't defend himself! Even if this man didn't look like the most intimidating figure in the world, he still looked like he could put up a pretty good fight.

Daniel promised himself he wouldn't find out.

"Here's your drink." he announced soon enough, setting the whiskey in front of the man who, suddenly, was watching him with a very... _different_ expression. It wasn't creepy, not really; he was used to the stares, the glances that screamed _get out of my country_ , the looks of poison and fire and _hatred_.

This had none of that, though.

Daniel gave the man a confused look, fighting back the urge in the back of his mind to ask _why_ he was being given such a stare. It was like the man was trying to place his face, trying to remember where he had seen him before. It was like they knew each other somehow, someway. It was like they were long lost friends, lovers separated by time and space and circumstance and god _damn_ , did this stranger look familiar as fuck all of a sudden.

"Sir?" he asked, his tone much more wary than before. He wasn't scared, not really. He was just...nervous, was all. Nervous for the explanation he could possibly get for this feeling of deja vu, nervous for the man sitting across from him and what he may do if he found out about the thoughts that were swirling through the young boy's mind. He was nervous for what all of this meant.

He was nervous for everything, for nothing.

He was nervous for himself.

"Sir, are you alright?" he spoke up again, his heart pounding practically out of his chest by now because _fuck_ , why was this man still staring at him like he knew him? 

He didn't know this man's name, he didn't know this man's story. For all he knew, this strange man at the bar could be a serial killer, set out to murder him. For all he knew, this man wasn't safe.

This man was danger, and fuck, did he want to experience it.

He shook his head, sighed quietly into the loud and bustling speakeasy. This man was a lost cause. A fluke. He didn't know this guy from anywhere, he knew in his heart that he didn't, but god, did he wish that he did. God, did he wish he had a reason to stay, a reason to talk with the man all night about _how_ , and _why_ , and _when_ , and just _fuck_ , he _shouldn't_ be thinking these things. He needed to get back to work, he needed to tend to all the rest of the patrons. He needed to focus, forget.

He needed to move on.


End file.
